But I sure did love that room......

Here is an excerpt from a letter from Jane Paznik, Carole Sharoff's friend:


but I sure did love that room...all the wood and scroll work. And I loved that little side room where the congregation davened in the summer. This was, of course, "my" place. The room was small and bright and looked out at lovely trees, and the sound of the small group of people wafted up and permeated the space, and it was prayerful and lovely. I felt quite at home there in ways I generally don't feel in a synagogue. I did feel those things when I was a kid, in Camp Ramah, and we davened outside under a tree, so this was HUGE for me, to find a place that felt physically and spiritually like home and childhood. I can't and don't compare myself to people who have spent their whole lives intimately involved in the synagogue, but I feel the sadness. And I am sad to know that someone lost his life in the fire.
I can't even imagine what an enormous task it will be for you, your co-president, and Sam to find the strength to help the community regroup and rebuild. Awesome, like the kids say. And expensive. I can't help thinking, though, that Sam is the right person to take on the spiritual task, and you are the right person to take on the business stuff. Not that I envy you.
I wish I could do something. I wish I were there.

Temple Touchstone

Here is the letter that Co-President Carole Sharoff wrote to Temple Beth El in Stamford, Connecticut, where she grew up.

December 27, 2007

A terrible thing happened in Gloucester, MA early on Shabbat morning, December 15. Temple Ahavat Achim, housed in a structure parts of which date back 240 years, fell victim to flames that had engulfed a neighboring apartment building and burned to the ground. Twenty-nine people lost their homes and most sadly, one man lost his life. My congregation has lost just about everything from the sacred such as our five Torah scrolls to the mundane such as the Rabbi’s favorite gray suit. At a service that morning in donated space, a dramatic moment was forever engraved in our congregational memories when members of the Fire Department marched one by one into the the sanctuary cradling in their arms what they could find: some of our bronze memorial plaques, frozen tallit and yarmulkes stained by smoke and ash, a few hearty siddurim and shared tears. They also recovered and returned one charred Torah and the Star of David that had graced the exterior of the Temple.

We are coalescing as a community without walls, homeless for the moment, but drawing on shared tragedy and all of our strengths, and comforted by the kindness and generosity of strangers and friends around the world.

I wrote to Rabbi Hammerman because as co-President of Temple Ahavat Achim I find myself reaching back to my childhood experiences at Temple Beth El. That is helping me relate to the Cape Ann families who grew up at Temple Ahavat Achim and have now lost so much. My parents joined Temple Beth El in 1949. My childhood was spent on Prospect Street at the Shul and at the Jewish Center next door. I remember some of the Beth El presidents who were my parents' friends and contemporaries. It is hard to believe that I am the age that they probably were then! I remember Sunday School and Hebrew School and finding my father at the Men’s Club lox and bagel breakfasts when school was over. When my parents died 3-4 years ago, it was so comforting to my brother Richard and me to know that their funerals would be conducted from the original Temple Beth El sanctuary that was home to them, that I could draw comfort from the familiar stained glass windows which I had memorized during services, that the prayers that I learned at TBE would now be said for them and that their parents’ Yarhzeit plaques would be lit bringing my family together spiritually in an multigenerational hug. My Gloucester friends, some of them 6th generation, some of them elderly, have lost that sense of peace and closure. The windows are all destroyed, the pews have burned and we must start over. The older children of the congregation are worried about where their Bar/Bat Mitzvah’s will be held and the younger children cry seeing the devastation which they can barely understand.

So here I am, standing next to my Rabbi in Gloucester, Samuel Barth, making some very tough decisions but positive decisions and drawing on my childhood experiences. We hope to save some parts of the building that survived such as the granite steps to reuse them or perhaps, in the style of TBE, incorporate them in a sculpture garden dedicated to our history at our future Temple.

I am lucky. I have Temple Beth El as my touchstone, but so many members of my Gloucester congregation have nothing. We are constantly updating our website, www.taagloucester.org. I hope you will take a moment to view some of the pictures and videos of Temple Ahavat Achim.

With love, Carole Sharoff.

Things We Found in the Fire

Standing in front of the TAA ruins, it felt as if all was lost. Undoubtedly, the tragedy of December 14 brought many, many losses. But as we look back, a week later, we can also appreciate the things we found.

In addition to the charred remnants of tallisim and chumashim delivered to us by the Gloucester Fire Department, the bronze plaque honoring Rabbi Geller on his retirement last year was found intact along with several other memorial plaques and works of art that somehow, miraculously, survived the flames.

Perhaps more importantly, we found scores of caring new friends and supporters. At the gathering on Thursday evening, people from many corners of the world -- the mayor of Gloucester and his successor, clergy members of all denominations, congregants from other North Shore temples, the consul general of Israel, and so many of our own members -- came to express their grief and vow their support and help as we end our period of shiva and begin to look ahead and talk about rebuilding our precious temple. At this point, no one knows where or when that will happen, but for the 300 mourners who gathered at the site and walked together in the snow to the UU Church on Thursday evening, it became very clear that we are not alone.

We have found strength, hope, determination, and love that we didn't even know we had.

The Morning of the Fire

We were awakened on Saturday morning with the unbelievable news -- the Temple burned; totally destroyed. A man dead in the apartment building next door. There would be a service at nine at the Unitarian Universalist Church up the street.

The city was full of fire trucks and police cars -- streets blocked, nowhere to park. The air was acrid, full of smoke. The site -- our normal, everyday temple had become something other. it was still burning, even while everything was covered in ice and snow.

And yet, to walk into that other house of worship at the normal time and see the people who normally gathered was, even in our raw grief and shock, oddly normal, supremely comforting. We are a community. This is what we do. 

We began by sharing memories. Meredith Fine recalled the massive rafters in the attic, made from ships' masts, the story went. That's what the building was like, she said. Solid. Dependable.

Next came Casey Moir, a high school student. She reminded us that we had just celebrated Channukah, which marks the destruction of the Temple, but includes a miracle -- and the survival of the Jewish people. We are more than just a building, she reminded us. We are a community.

Then the doors opened, and in walked a dozen firefighters in their big yellow outfits. They walked silently, in procession, their hands full of wet, sooty tallises and kipot. They came to the front, stood in front of Rabbi Barth. "This was all we could save," the fire chief said.

We shared our memories, our grief, our hope. Amy Farber remembered how, before the renovation, there was a stage in what became the foyer. The little kids would hide behind the red velvet curtains. "It was annoying at the time," she said, "but now it seems sweet."

Next to speak was Bob Visnick, who began, "I was one of those annoying kids who hid behind the curtains."

At one point, somebody noted that, as we stood up and spoke, no one had to identify themselves. We know each other -- those of us who are newcomers, and those of us who have been at T.A.A. our whole lives. "We are a Kehilah Kedoshah," Rabbi Barth reminded us, "a holy community."

We sang the songs we know so well. We read part of the week's Torah portion. (Jean O'Gorman brought her small Torah. Beth Abraham in Beverly lent us a Torah, siddurim and humashim.) We had something like a service. We had something very like a Kehilah Kedoshah.

Ashes and Wishes

The past several days have been packed with events and emotions both grim and reassuring. In the face of destruction, and the loss of a life, we never lost for a moment the strength of our congregation and the support of the community.

As we take our first steps on our road to rebuilding, this blog will keep us up to date on our project.

On Thursday night, December 19, at 7 pm, we will hold a Gathering of Remembrance and Commitment to Our Future. We will meet at the synagogue site on Middle Street. We will then walk to the Unitarian-Universalist Church to continue our gathering.